


A Little Push

by BonesAndScales



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: A tiny bit of smut, Fluff, Hannibal Loves Will, M/M, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Season 2, Time Travel, Will Loves Hannibal, blink and you miss it - Freeform, don't judge me please, i don't know what this is, it's 2am, just a pile of fluff, only mentioned - Freeform, rating because this is hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 08:05:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14890724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonesAndScales/pseuds/BonesAndScales
Summary: Will remains unfazed. Living on the run, you learn to adapt to every situation.Will smiles at this Hannibal warmly. “Hello. What year is it?”Time Travel AU. Post-Fall Will swaps places with Season 2 Will. Things happen.





	A Little Push

**Author's Note:**

> Just a silly little thing that popped up in my head. I just needed some fluff. 
> 
> **Warning** : Rape is mentioned once. It didn't happen, it doesn't happen, it won't happen. It's just mentioned very quickly. If you are not comfortable with the very notion, please do not proceed.
> 
> This is just a big pile of fluff I promise.
> 
> Enjoy!

Will sips his wine slowly. So slowly it amounts more to wetting his lips than actual drinking. Keeping up with Hannibal’s conversation is getting harder and harder. He wants to blame it on the late hour but a glance at his wrist watch tells him that it is barely past nine.

He looks down suspiciously at the glass in his hand. Poison? Or a sedative maybe? He would not put it past Hannibal. Will’s vision is starting to swim, and he feels his skin getting warmer by the minute. He has too many layers of clothes.

“Will?”

Will looks up at Hannibal. His vision is getting blurry. He shakes his head a little. Will does not notice Hannibal moving until he is by his side, taking his glass from his hand before it falls and spills the content on the expensive rug. Will hears Hannibal talking to him, maybe asking him questions, but he can’t parse through the words. He feels a hand on his forehead, so cool against his heated skin. Will leans his head into it, and does not notice his eyes falling close or his body tipping forward.

He feels Hannibal’s arms around him, and suddenly he is lying on the ground, Hannibal’s hand taking off his jacket, loosening his collar and belt. That is the last thing he registers before everything turns black.

* * *

Will falls back down on the bed, out of breath. He greedily gulps down lungfuls of air, still high from his orgasm. He moans softly when Hannibal pulls out and rolls aside to lie beside him, his breathing just as harsh as Will’s. Will turns to slot against Hannibal’s side and feels his arms snake around his waist, pulling him closer. He drops a kiss on Hannibal’s shoulder before tucking his head under his chin.

Neither of them speaks, just basking in the post-coital bliss, listening to the roiling of the waves coming through the open French windows of their bedroom. The fresh sea breeze makes their curtains flutter, brings in the now familiar, briny scent of the beach.

“You’re one smart, devious, impish boy,” Hannibal says after a while in a mock reprimanding tone.

Will gives a short laugh. “Was the suit too much?”

“It was perfect. You were perfect.”

Hannibal turns his head towards Will for a chaste, lingering kiss. They should probably get up and shower before going to sleep, but right now Will does not feel like moving, too cosy in Hannibal’s warm embrace. He decides to just lay there a little longer, pulling the covers over their bodies to shield them from the cold wind. He feels the exhaustion pulling on his eyelids, and after a few minutes he is asleep.

* * *

When Will opens his eyes again, the fever and the dizziness are gone.

But they have been replaced by another kind of heat.

Will is lying on his side, on a soft mattress. The air is warm and humid and smells of sea salt around him. It is still dark outside, the only light in the room being the moonlight streaming in through open French windows, leading to a balcony.

It takes him a moment to realise that a good deal of the heat around him comes from the body pressed to his back, and the arm wrapped loosely around his waist. He freezes at the soft puffs of breaths he feels on his neck.

Will turns his head slowly, his heart beating wildly against his chest. The naked body of another man is unmistakable. It takes some time for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but when they do, he recognizes the familiar features of Hannibal’s face. With a sharp intake of breath, Will backs away, slipping off the bed. But before he can fall on the floor, Hannibal catches him and pulls him back on the bed.

* * *

When Will opens his eyes, they land on an unfamiliar ceiling. Though the familiar scent of Hannibal surrounds him. He turns his head to the side, looking out the window. It is still pitch black outside. The only light in the room comes from the fireplace, casting a soft light on the walls and furniture.

He sits up gingerly, still sore from his and Hannibal’s earlier romping. He leans against the headboard, the sheets pooling around his waist, taking in his surroundings.

He knows this room. This is Hannibal’s bedroom from his old house in Baltimore. But the house has been abandoned for several years now. Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, nobody had wanted to buy the house, not even people trying to make a few bucks out of it by maybe advertising it as the house of the Chesapeake Ripper. After all these years, it should be falling into ruins. There should be dust and mould and cobwebs everywhere. But the room looks pristine.

Will turns his head towards the half open door when he hears footsteps. Hannibal’s footsteps. He would recognize those anywhere. And indeed, it is Hannibal that pushes the door fully open, only to stop at the sight of Will, awake and naked. Hannibal looks younger, more guarded, still wearing his person suit around Will. A leap into the past is not a difficult guess.

Will remains unfazed, he has learned to take things in stride since they slayed the dragon together, jumped off that cliff and ran off to Cuba. Living on the run, you learn to adapt to every situation.

Will smiles at this Hannibal warmly. “Hello. What year is it?”

* * *

Will struggles to free his hands from Hannibal’s vice-like grip, pinning them on the bed beside his head. “Goddammit! Let me go!” Will shouts, really starting to panic when he can’t seem to dislodge the man from himself.

Hannibal brings Will’s hands above his head and holds them in one hand, moving the other to Will’s jaw to hold his head still. It takes Will a moment to register the shushing sounds Hannibal is making. Realising he is not getting anywhere like this, Will stops trying to break free, still breathing hard.

Hannibal lets go of his jaw, reaching for the lamp on the bedside table instead. A muted orange light floods in and illuminates the room in a soft glow. Will finally sees Hannibal, seated on Will form, his thighs on either side of Will’s, clamping down tightly to keep him from escaping. Will sees the look of surprise on his face, mirroring his own. Hannibal looks older, with more lines etched around his eyes.

“Will?”

Will, still wide-eyed and silently panicking, can only breath out a soft “Where am I?”.

Hannibal studies his features intensely, his grip on Will’s hands just as tight. Will flinches when Hannibal uses his other hand to trace a horizontal line on his forehead with the tip of his fingers, then a vertical line on his right cheek with his knuckles. Then his hand lowers to Will’s belly and Will’s breath hitches when a finger slips inside his shirt between two buttons to stroke the skin just over his navel, caressing up and down as if looking for something. When after a second they do not find that something, Hannibal places his hand back on Will’s face, cupping his cheek to make Will meet his gaze.

“What year are you from, Will?”

* * *

Will sees Hannibal hesitate at the door. Then Hannibal opens his mouth and says warily, “2014.”

Ah. Five years in the past. Will nods at him to thank him, before saying, “I’m from the future.”

Hannibal’s eyes widen for a second, before his face takes back a neutral expression. Will sees his eyes travelling his features, taking in all the unfamiliar scars on his face and the one across his belly.

“These are yours, if you’re wondering” Will says, a mischievous smile tugging on his lips.

He can’t hold back the laugh bubbling up from his chest at Hannibal’s confused frown. Will is having a little too much fun with this, but the events from earlier this evening have put him in a pleasant mood. When Hannibal does not make any move to approach him, Will rolls his eyes and beckons him closer with a movement of his head.

“Come here. I’m not going to jump at you.”

After staring at him some more, Hannibal finally takes a step into the room, and walks slowly towards Will, only to stop a few feet from him, his eyes widening again.

Will tilts his head. “Something wrong?”

Hannibal takes a small whiff of the air, and exhales through his mouth. Will can almost hear the gears turning in his head. “You smell… different,” Hannibal says cautiously.

“I smell like you, right?” Will says nonchalantly, “Yeah, we had sex earlier.” He grins at the baffled look on Hannibal’s face. Oh, he is having way too much fun with this. But he is feeling magnanimous. He looks at the expensive furniture around himself. “Why am I in you bedroom anyway?”

After an impressively quick recover, Hannibal says, “You fainted after dinner. I brought you here.”

“Let me guess, you carried me? Bridal style? Bad habits die hard.” Nope, Will lied, he is not feeling magnanimous at all.

Hannibal can’t hide the bewilderment on his face and Will just snickers.

* * *

When Will does not answer after a minute, Hannibal strokes his jaw softly and repeats, his voice just as soft, barely over a hush, “Will, what year?”

Will’s heart is still thrumming against his ribcage, the fight or flight instinct dilating his pupils. When Hannibal does not do anything to hurt him, Will swallows once, to dislodge the lump in his throat and says, his voice tight, “2014.”

Hannibal closes his eyes and Will can feel him thinking, considering his next move. Will barely blinks, observing Hannibal’s every move and ready to retaliate at any sign of Hannibal attacking him. He knows deep down that he is no match for Hannibal but he sure as hell won’t go down without a fight.

Hannibal looks back down at him, and Will’s breath stops, fear spiking. “I’m not going to hurt you, Will,” he says slowly, “I’m going to release your hands, but you have to stay calm.”

After a second, Will gives him a quick nod. Hannibal gradually loosens his hold on his wrists, and Will does not dare move a finger, fearing any sharp movement might elicit a violent response. Hannibal scoots back to get off Will’s legs. When they are no longer in contact, Will scrambles back until he is pressed flush against the headboard, his legs close to his body, putting as much distance as he can between the two of them.

Hannibal just sits back on his haunches. When Will takes in Hannibal’s state of undress—butt naked—his eyes drift back to himself to realise that he is wearing less layers than earlier, having been stripped down to his pants and dress shirt.

After his breath has calmed down to a more normal pace, Will repeats his previous question warily, “Where am I?”

“Cuba.”

Cuba. That’s a long way to Baltimore. “Why am I in Cuba?”

“I believe you somehow came from the past, switching places with yourself.”

“The past?”

“You are currently in 2019.”

* * *

“Come here. I’m not going to hurt you.” Will pats the bed beside him, keeping his smile warm and open.

Hannibal considers him, not moving any closer. “I don’t know that,” he says, his tone sceptical.

Will rolls his eyes. “Yes, you know. Because I’m telling you.”

“And I should trust your words on that because…?”

“Where—or rather when—I’m from we’re long past betrayal and forgiveness.”

“I don’t know that either.”

“Jesus fuck, Hannibal,” Will sees him start at the use of his name, “I’m unarmed and butt naked. You have a scalpel hidden up your sleeve and a dozen other things you could use to harm me in your bedside table alone. If anyone’s gotta be wary of physical harm right now, it’s me.”

After another minute of consideration, Hannibal finally goes to sit on the bed, facing Will, studying him, ready to fight if need be. Will just leans back against the headboard, making himself comfortable.

“How did we become… whatever we are?” Hannibal asks after a while of just staring at each other.

“I ask myself that question every single day,” Will says with a fond look, “I think the two of us no longer trying to kill each other played a big part in it.”

“I don’t think fate would ever stop pitting us against each other.”

“Well, marriage is about compromises,” Will says, giving a pointed look to his left hand, and the gold band sitting snugly on his ring finger.

* * *

Five years. Will is currently five years in the future, according to Hannibal. Would he lie about something like this? Will would not put it past him. But why do this? Will chances a quick glance at the bedside table to see a hunting knife and a gun lying there.

“Fear not, I’m not going to hurt you, Will” Hannibal says, making Will’s eyes snap back to him, “We’re long past betrayal and forgiveness.”

Will swallows once, and gathers all his bravado to ask despite fearing the answer, “Why am I in your bed?”

Hannibal tilts his head. “Why do you think?”

Will immediately jumps to the worst conclusion, “Did you,” he can’t quite say the word, “force yourself on me?” he says instead.

“I’m a killer, Will. Not a rapist.”

Will startles at the admission. This is the confession he has been desperately trying to get for the past few months, to finally put Hannibal in a cell, where he rightfully belongs. But he feels neither satisfaction at finally hearing the confession, nor relief at the confirmation that he was not raped. What it entails is far worse.

“However much we may have hurt each other, I would never defile you or deny you your agency,” Hannibal says, his voice faint with emotion. “You’re at your most beautiful unfettered and true to your nature.”

Will finally allows his eyes to meet Hannibal’s directly, and shudders at the open worship and adoration coming from them, and flooding through him. He promptly looks away. Too many truths implied, and none he is ready to acknowledge. He takes a long, steadying breath to calm his racing heart.

* * *

Will watches with increasing amusement as Hannibal’s eyes stay transfixed by the ring on his left hand. Nothing on his face changes, but Will has long learned to look beyond that deceptive veil, and sees the dozen emotions—so genuine, so human—rattling Hannibal’s mind.

Will chuckles and beckons him closer, which Hannibal does after a moment of deliberation.

Will leans forwards and takes one of Hannibal’s hands between both his, and bring it on his cheek, holding it there. He exhales softly and closes his eyes, keeping his own mind open for Hannibal’s perusing. Will turns his head and places two lingering kisses on Hannibal’s palm, delighted when he hears his breath hitch.

He kisses Hannibal’s wrist, pushing down the hem of his sleeve, peppering kisses on the tender skin, feeling his pulse quicken under his lips. He revels on Hannibal’s quiet rapture extending to his own mind and coursing through his veins. “It’ll be okay,” he whispers with each kiss, “We’ll be okay. Don’t give up on me.”

He lets go of Hannibal’s hand to cup his face instead, slowly pulling him closer. He can feel Hannibal’s breath hasten, and see his pupils dilate the closer their faces get.

When their foreheads touch, Will sighs against Hannibal’s mouth. “Don’t give up on us.”

* * *

Will watches Hannibal slide his right hand across the mattress towards Will’s bare feet. He can't not notice the glint of a ring on his left hand.

Will instinctively pulls his legs closer to himself, wrapping his arms around them. Hannibal pauses, searches Will’s eyes and holds his gazes for a long time. Without looking away, he slides his hand towards Will again, even slower than before. And this time, Will does not recoil. He watches with a mix of fear and fascination as Hannibal’s fingers reach the toes of his right foot, then glide up the arch of his foot. Hannibal loosely grips the heel and slowly, gently pulls Will’s foot up and towards himself, extending his leg in the process.

Will hold tightens on his other leg. Hannibal finally breaks eye contact, to slightly push up the hem of his pant leg with his other hand. And Will startles when he leans down to drop a light kiss on the top of his foot. His breath hitches when Hannibal peppers kisses all around his ankle.

Will tries to draw back his leg. “Dr. Lecter—” he says, but the man just tightens his hold and starts leaving a trail of slow, lingering kisses up his shin, progressively pushing his pant leg higher on the way up. “Docto—Hannibal—” he croaks out.

“You don’t have to fear,” Hannibal whispers against his skin with each kiss, “You don’t have to doubt. You don’t have to hide.” When his mouth is a few inches shy of Will’s knee, he stops. His eyes, dark with desires and promises, lift up to pin Will’s again. “Not with me.”

* * *

Will blinks and he is back in their bed, in their villa, in Cuba. The light on his bedside table is on, casting soothing orange hues in the room. Hannibal has one of his legs in his hands, leaving kisses on his skin. He looks up at Will, a soft smile gracing his lips.

“Will,” he says, his voice laced with relief and content.

“Hello,” Will says, taking back his leg from Hannibal, and extending his hands to cup Hannibal’s face instead.

Hannibal goes without resistance when Will pulls him in for a kiss. Not breaking the kiss, Hannibal holds Will’s hips to slide him back down on the mattress, under himself, and Will sighs in delight, wrapping his arms around Hannibal’s neck and parting his legs to make room for Hannibal.

“You were so distrustful, five years ago,” Will says between two kisses.

“So were you,” Hannibal retorts, moving down to kiss the column of Will’s throat.

Will huffs out a laugh when Hannibal nips at his jaw. “We’ve come a long way.”

“We have.”

* * *

Will blinks and he is holding Hannibal’s face against his own, their breaths coming short, their eyes wide and pupils open, eating up their irises.

For what feels like an eternity, neither of them dares move, only looking into each other’s eyes, hearts and minds bare at last. Slowly, gingerly, Will’s hands slide from the sides of Hannibal’s face to his neck, to his shoulders. He feels Hannibal’s hands rising to cup his face, settling under his ears, cradling his head.

Their noses brush together and Will closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
